Ever After
by zoe.grant.927
Summary: When Molly Hooper is left orphaned and under the care of her stepmother, slowly she is turned to a servant in her own home. But she still remains kind and compassionate - keeping her father's farm running is the only thing on her mind. But one day in the company of royalty and a few exchanged words with a certain prince will change the course of her life for ever.
1. Chapter 1

Philip Anderson walked into the hall of the grand house, shaking slightly with excitement as the footman instructed him to wait outside the door. He was here! He was actually going to meet the _benefactor_ of his published works of stories, his life's work and passion, keeping the old fairytales alive from the earliest known origins up to this moment, December 2nd, 1846.

'Sir,' the guard said, motioning to the door. Anderson straightened his tie and strode through the doors into the parlour. An old woman was sitting in a chair, her white hair and elaborate gown shining slightly from the sunlight coming through the window. 'Ah, young man,' she said quietly. 'Mr Anderson.

'Lady Smallwood.'

'You're probably wondering why I brought you here,' she said quietly.

Anderson straightened up. 'Yes, well, you took an unusual interest in my stories… after all, they'r children's stories...'

'Yes,' she mused, 'I enjoyed them. Although I must say, the tale of the cinder girl... it was disappointing.'

Anderson swallowed. 'Well, yes, nobody really knows the origins of the story... the fairy godmother and such,'

'Yes,' Lady Smallwood agreed, 'some people say the slipper was glass, some say fur...' She gestured to a servant, and they brought over a small box. She opened it, and took out a single shoe. 'I wish to set the record straight, if you will allow me.'

Anderson gazed in awe at the shoe, its glass shining in the light. He couldn't believe it... could she be saying... 'So the story...'

'It's true,' Lady Smallwood said. 'Cinderella was real, and this was her glass slipper. And this is her story. Now what is that phrase you use...?

Once upon a time...'


	2. Chapter 2

There lived a girl very long ago named Margaret, or Molly, Hooper. She was a merchant's daughter, and had no mother nor siblings, but she loved her father dearly. She lived a contented life on the family's chateua with the servants and animals, all whom she and her father were more like family to, and read and laughed and played. And one day, her father set off on one of his trips. He thought Molly needed a mother figure, and so when he returned, he brought with him a wife and two daughters.

'Hold still, girl!' Mrs Hudson fussed, trying in vain to tie the eight year old girl's dress in vain, half laughing. 'You may be getting a new mother and sisters but you can't hardly go and meet them in your underclothes!'

'Oh, Mrs Hudson, it's like Christmas,' Molly said happily, sitting in front of the mirror, her long brown hair braided over her shoulder. 'I get a mother, and sisters, all in one day!'

'Yes, and we should be glad,' the other servant, Sally, said. 'The Master's deserving of all the happiness in the world after the mistress went, bless her,'

Suddenly, a stone clanged against the window. Molly jumped up and ran to it. 'Child, your dress!' Mrs Hudson cried in exasperation. Molly went to the window and leaned out, to see her friend Billy Wiggins below on the ground. He scrunched his eyes up. 'Bloody hell, mouse, you look like a girl!'

'That's because I am, stupid!' Molly retorted.

'I know, but you look it today!' Billy said in bewilderment.

'I can still beat you into the ground,' Molly said, sticking her tongue out. 'I'll come down there and prove it!' She ran out of the room, grinning, followed by Mrs Hudson and Sally shouting.

'The Master's here! Look sharp!' The servants lined up outside the house as the carriage pulled up. Mrs Hudson and Sally came out of the house, panting, still looking for the hyperactive little girl. They quickly straightened up against the wall, fussing over their aprons and caps. The carriage slowed to a stop. The first load of servants came down and started unfastening trunks, and Henry Hooper stepped out from it, smiling. He was met with a chorus of happy cries as he hugged and shook the hands of each of his staff.

'Well, well,' he grinned, 'how has my house been in the weeks I've been gone? I've no doubt you've been keeping it in good order, Martha.'

Mrs Hudson smiled. 'As always, Master.'

'Where is Molly?' Henry said, looking around. 'She should be here - as you know, clothes and jewels aren't the only thing I've to show you from my journey.' The staff held their breath as Henry smiled at them all, and a carriage pulled up. 'I'd like you all to meet our new family-'

'Papa!' Molly came running from the side of the house, caked in mud but smiling, with a sullen, dirt-covered Billy trudging behind. 'You're back!'

'Look at you!' Henry laughed, sweeping her up into his arms. 'My darling, I was hoping to present a young lady, but you'll have to do.'

'I absolutely whipped Billy!' Molly grinned.

'I can see!' her father laughed as he saw her friend. 'Now, Molly, you do know I have a surprise?'

'Yes,' Molly smiled.

'Then,' Henry opened the carriage door, 'I'd like you to meet your new mother and sisters.'

The door opened, and a little girl with jet black hair and features more of a woman than an eight year old stepped out with a grace that stunned Molly. She wore a red dress and veil, and curtseyed politely as she saw Molly. Then, after her, a girl with softer features who wore green, and had lovely golden waves of hair Molly could only hope for, who smiled at her. 'Irene and Mary,' Henry said. 'They're your age, Molly, you'll get on like a house on fire. Dear?'

The garden held its breath as a tall, elegant woman stepped out, with a stance that held the whole scene in its palm. She had dark hair, sharp features, full lips, a figure that would be envied by most women that age and eyes that seemed to look at everything with a cold, analysing stare.

'Molly,' Henry grinned, 'this is your new stepmother, Baroness Catherine de Reil.'

'Hello, Baroness,' Molly said politely.

There was a pause, and Baroness de Reil looked around. She put her hands together delicately. 'I thought it would be bigger.'


	3. Chapter 3

'Girls, meet your sister, Margaret,' the Baroness said. 'Margaret.' She nodded.

'Hello, Miss,' the girls said.

'Oh, what elegant young ladies,' Henry smiled. 'Though really, call us Henry and Molly, girls.'

'Yes,' the Baroness said stiffly. 'How charming of a name. Margaret, it is a pleasure to meet you. Your father talks of nothing else.'

'I am glad to meet you,' Molly said.

'Now, then,' Henry said, 'let us go inside. We'll be like a family in no time.'

The household smiled as her father led the young girl inside, with her sisters and new mother. Mrs Hudson sniffed and wiped a few happy tears. We will be happy, she thought. Very happy indeed.

Henry smiled as he tucked his daughter into bed, the fire lighting the room. 'Do you like them?'

'Very much,' Molly said, snuggling under the covers.

'I am glad,' he said. 'This is the start of a new life. You will be happy with them.'

'I am sure,' Molly said.

'And,' her father said, 'I also brought something new.'

'Really?' Molly said. 'Two gifts in one day!'

'Hold on,' Henry said, and got up.

'Papa,' Molly laughed, 'Where on earth are you going?'

'You will see,' Henry said. From the foot of the bed, he picked a little wicker basket. The lid was moving slightly.

'What is in there?' Molly said excitedly, 'Papa, it's moving!'

'Why don't you open it and see?'

Molly cautiously opened the lid, and gasped in delighted suprise. A little kitten was looking up at her, a kitten with black and white fur and a little ribbon tied around his neck. 'All mine?' she cried happily.

'Yes,' her father smiled. 'I found him on the way home. A farmer's cat had just had a litter.'

'Oh, he's gorgeous!' Molly said, cradling the kitten to her chest.

'What will you name him, then?'

'Tobias,' Molly grinned. 'He looks like he would suit such a grand name.'

'Mm,' her father said. 'I am glad you like him.'

'I love him!' Molly said happily, and settled the kitten beside her on the covers.

'Good,' her father said, then he shall be your companion when i am away.'

'What do you mean?' Molly said. She sat up in bed.

'I have to go away for three weeks,' her father sighed. 'This Friday.'

'But you just got here!'

'I know,' he sighed. 'I must.'

'One week,' Molly said. She held up Tobias. 'He'll miss you too much.'

Her father laughed. 'Two.'

'One.'

'Alright, one.' He said, kissing her head. 'For Tobias' sake. Now get some sleep. I love you, my Molly.'

Henry stepped outside that Friday morning, the whole house waiting to see him off. He smiled at the sad faces of his wife and children. 'Such faces, my dears, I'm only away for a week!'

'Then go now,' the Baroness said, 'so you may come back sooner.'

He smiled and kissed her cheek, then went to Molly, Mary and Irene. Molly cradled Tobias in her arms. 'Look after my girls, will you?' he siad, stracthing the cat's chin and watching him purr. 'And you too, Molly, help your sisters settle.'

'Yes, papa,' Molly said glumly.

'Master?' the stablehand, Michael, said, holding out the reins of Henry's horse. 'We're ready to depart.'

'Thank-you,' Henry said, taking them. He climbed onto his horse, and it galloped off, the carriage of luggage following.

'Lessons, girls,' the Baroness said, stepping inside.

'Wait!' Molly said. 'The gate! He waves at the gate!'

'It's tradtion,' Mrs Hudson explained.

The Baroness ignored her, and stepped into the house. The rest of the household waited, looking for the hand at the gate. Henry's horse sped on. The gate was approaching. Then...

'PAPA!' Molly cried, running as fast as her legs would let her to the fallen man.

'Master!' Mrs Hudson shrieked, and the servants followed her and Molly to Henry, who was lying on his side on the dirt path. The Baroness, startled by the noise, came out of the house.

'Papa!' Molly cried, kneeling beside her father. He was breathing shallowly, and his face was pale. 'Molly...' he croaked, 'my Molly,'

'Don't leave me!' Molly sobbed, 'you're okay, you're fine, Mrs Hudson, help!'

The Baroness skidded to a halt, kicking up dust. 'What's happened?' She knelt beside Molly.

'It's the master!' Michael said.

'Henry,' the Baroness said. 'Henry, don't leave me, Henry, speak to me, please!'

Henry took Molly's hand in his, and looked at her. Tears streamed down her face. 'I love you,' he said, 'I love you...' And then he closed his eyes and his face went blank.

'No!' Molly screamed. 'No, Papa, no!' Mrs Hudson gulped, and knelt by Molly, starting to cry. She tried to pull her away. 'Leave me be!' Molly sobbed.

'Henry!' the Baroness said in horror, 'Henry, don't leave me here! You can't leave me here!'

But that was the last time they would see Henry. It was the last time, for a long time, Molly would be happy.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly woke up from one of her many dreams, blinking as harsh sunlight streamed in through the window. She sat up, stretching, and wiped the straw from her dress that had gathered in the night. Her hair was tangled and she hadn't washed yet; would Mrs Hudson let her borrow the comb? She got up, patting the pig that lay sleeping in the corner and made her way outside, to the garden where the sun was just starting to rise over the hill. She picked up the old wicker basket at the edge of the door, and began to pick vegetables. She sighed as she loaded up her basket; most of them hadn't grown well and were mangled and small, so she picked out the best she could for dinner, and saved the rest for herself and the house staff. Then she fed the chickens, brushed the horses, and went inside the house to boil water for breakfast.

She stepped inside the kitchen, where Mrs Hudson was rolling dough for the bread. She wore a simple brown dress, a dirty apron and had her greying hair braided into a bun. She was a small woman, rather thin and approaching seventy, but she was capable of almost everything that needed doing in the house, and proud of the fact.

She looked up from her work, wiping her brow. 'Morning, dear,' she nodded to Molly.

Molly smiled and approached her, setting the basket on the workbench. 'Do you need any help?'

'No, no, I'm alright,' Mrs Hudson replied tiredly, 'I've got Sally doing the eggs.' She gave Molly a weak smile and cast her gaze back to the dough.

Molly felt a pang of sadness. It had been a bad few weeks for Mrs Hudson. The mistress had had her husband, George, sold to be shipped to the Americas to pay the debts she racked up with her expensive tastes. Mrs Hudson was devastated, but refused to show it.

Molly put a hand on the old woman's shoulder. 'We'll free George. I promise.'

Mrs Hudson let out a sigh. 'If only it was that simple. I know you mean well, dear, but he's to be shipped out any day now.'

'Then we shall simply have to act fast,' Molly said. 'I won't watch as the baroness tears this house apart.'

'God give me _strength!_ ' Molly and Mrs Hudson looked up at the sound of Sally's aggravated voice as she barged into the kitchen - with the breakfast her and Mrs Hudson had just prepared, no less. 'Those women make my head spin!' She slammed the breakfast tray down on the counter. 'You should have seen Irene - face like a lemon!' She proceeded to put on a prim voice which made Molly grin;

' "I said I wanted four-minute eggs, not _four one minute eggs_ , and where in God's name is our bread!'" Sally sighed whilst taking out new eggs and breakfast plates; 'Well, at least we get our breakfast early. I swear if I weren't paid by the month I would take those eggs and dump them on their heads!'

' _Sally_!' Molly half yelled, half whispered, her eyes darting to the open door. 'She'll hear you!'

'Let her,' Sally muttered. She sighed and wiped her brow. 'Honestly, Molly, I don't know how you stay so patient. I'm this close to ripping her silly hair out!'

Molly shrugged her shoulders. 'I just want to take care of the farm,' she said reasonably. 'This is our home, and it's up to us to take care of it. Papa did not die so we could give up.'

Sally sighed. 'I suppose you're right. Come along; there's weeding to do.'

'WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT _HOLMES_!'

Prince Mycroft, firstborn of King Arthur and Queen Violet Holmes of the royal crown, raged through the winding stone corridors of the palace in a fury, guards at his side and his parents sleepily following suit. His boots slammed on the floor as he marched to his younger brother's chambers and barked at the guards; 'Check the library and the stables, _now_! And question the staff!' He quickened his pace, whipping up his cape behind him. 'I swear when he is found-'

'Mycroft, darling, what on earth is all this fuss about?' Queen Violet protested. 'Your father and I have just been roused from sleep in the middle of the night!'

'It is nothing to concern yourself with, Mother - your son has merely run away - _again_ ,' Mycroft replied cooly.

Violet's face dropped and she rubbed her temples. 'Not again… Arthur, I thought you had the guards bar his windows?'

'I did,' her husband murmured beside her, yawning. 'He must have figured a way round it. Really, Mycroft, must we be present for this? Surely he can't have gotten that far…'

'This is Sherlock we are discussing, Father,' Mycroft huffed crossly, 'of course he can!'

They stopped at a set of double doors of hard oak, which Mycroft proceeded to throw open with a loud bang that shook the hallway. 'Search the room!' he roared at the guards as they poured in, 'And get that dog up here this instant!'

'Yes, your Majesty,' the captain of the guard nodded, and barked at two of his men, 'You heard the prince! Get the hound!' They scurried off down the hallway, and within minutes, barking could be heard echoing off the walls until the guards returned, barely able to restrain the great beast of a bloodhound that was Blackbeard, tugging on his lead and howling as he dragged the two men toward's Sherlock's chambers, but was halted by Mycroft, who swiftly grabbed hold of his collar and said curtly, 'Sit, Blackbeard!'

The dog whined, but nonetheless licked Mycroft's hand - to which Mycroft reacted by grimacing in disgust - and plonked himself obediently on the floor, panting contentedly. 'Now, Blackbeard…' Mycroft strode into his younger brother's bedchambers and plucked a discarded dressing gown off a chair, holding it to the dog's nose, who snuffled at it, then let out a bark and nearly pulled Mycroft's arm out its socket as he bounded towards the window, getting down on his forepaws and scratching frantically at the stone wall below. Mycroft turned towards the captain of the guard. 'Remove the middle stone, it's obviously been loosened.'

The captain paused. 'But your majesty, he couldn't possibly have-'

' _Now_ , captain, or shall I have to do it myself!' The captain shook his head, muttering apologies before striding forward and pulling until the stone gave way to reveal a small wooden panel that snaked off into behind the wall, with a brass button in the middle. The captain of the guard looked to Mycroft, who nodded. He pressed the button, and there was a hollow scraping noise as above them, a tile from the turreted ceiling, slowly slid out of view until a small square of the night sky was visible.

'What in heaven's name…?' Mycroft murmured to himself, but before he could continue, there was a loud _click_ , and in a matter of moments, a rope ladder from the floor to the ceiling had unravelled and hung suspended right in front of him.

Mycroft gritted his teeth before turning to the captain, a look of barely concealed fury on his face which rather frightened the man. 'Send out a party to find him and bring him back - _right now_!'


	5. Chapter 5

Molly was picking apples in the garden the next morning, the sun beating down on her back. Her thoughts whirred as she tried to think of a plan to save poor George. _There must be some way,_ she thought. _I won't let her do this…_

She sighed and stood on her toes to reach another apple, when out of nowhere, the beating of hooves thundered across the ground, and her father's horse came flying into view with a hooded figure on it. Molly gripped an apple. 'Oh no you don't…' She took aim and threw, hitting the rider on the head, and continued to pelt him with apples, the horse bucking in confusion. She ran up to the rider, another apple in hand. 'Get out!' she shouted ferociously. 'Thief! I won't have you steal my father's horse, get out!' She pelted another apple at him for good measure, and he shouted in pain. 'Go away!'

The figure turned around, and leaped off the horse. He walked towards her. Molly held her fists up. 'I'm warning you, stay away!'

The man stopped, and slowly lifted his hood Molly gasped. The black waves of hair, sharp blueish-green eyes and tall, lean stature could belong to only one. _Oh God help her_ … She threw herself to the ground, 'Forgive me, your majesty, I thought-'

'Spare me your apologies,' the prince spat, brushing himself off. 'I have had enough of groveling peasants to last me a lifetime.'

'I am truly sorry,' Molly stuttered, 'it's only that was-'

'The horse, yes,' the prince said before she could finish, 'twelve years old, thoroughbred, clearly a prized possession from the care it has been given; brushed every day, exercised, though no rider uses it, that would indicate sentimental value, a family memory, the master's horse then, a deceased master at that, with a wife, not a first wife of course, too obvious, and you…?' He paused and looked at her. 'A servant but not employed, no, orphaned, yes, your clothes and hair indicate you work long hours and have no time for cleansing, though you are physically fit, you have quite the throwing arm…' He rubbed his head where the apple had hit him. 'Am I missing anything?'

Molly paused, dumbfounded. He had just read her like a book. She felt small under his gaze, the way his eyes, alert and the colour of the sea after a storm, pierced through her like daggers. 'Your majesty, I only wish I could repay you, you may have any horse, younger, perhaps-'

'I only wish to be left in peace,' the prince said shortly. He tossed her a purse. 'For your silence.'

He climbed on the horse, and sped off. Moll looked inside the purse. Her eyes widened. She ran inside as fast as her feet would take her. 'Sally! Mrs Hudson, come quick!'

Mrs Hudson came stumbling out of the kitchen, trying to keep her apron in place, followed by Sally who in hearing Molly's screams thought someone was truly about to die and was brandishing a frying pan. 'What is it, child?' Mrs Hudson shrieked. 'You gave us a heart attack!'

'We can save George!' Molly said, holding out the purse. Mrs Hudson took it and peered at the coins inside. Her hand went to her heart. 'Oh my goodness… where did you get this?'

'From an angel,' Molly said, 'a blessing! Quick, if I hurry I can get George back, the baroness can't argue if we have already bought him back!'

'I will get the gown,' Mrs Hudson said, 'Sally, you get Billy!'

Minutes later, Billy had pulled up in his father's old carriage by the back of the house and Sally and Mrs Hudson were hurrying molly out of the door. Mrs Hudson handed molly the dress. 'Quickly now and good luck.'

'We will get George, I promise,' Molly said, and stepped inside the carriage. It took off, and she fumbled in the back, trying to change into the gown on the rough roads. She slipped her arms through the fabric, almost tripping as the carriage sped along. She was shaking with apprehension. 'Please, let us get him back…'

Sherlock sped along the forest, urging on the horse. The guards would be after him by now, of course, Mycroft would be furious…. Like he cared. All he wanted was to see the world before he was cornered into the throne – was that so much to ask, for God's sake?! To be free for one day, not be living in his gilded cage… If only life was that simple. He saw a bridge approaching, leading out of the kingdom. Finally…

'HELP!' a shout startled him out of his thoughts, coming from the forest. He wheeled his horse around, looking for the sound. He really didn't have time for this…

' _Help_!'

Oh for God's sake…

He sighed, and urged his horse into a gallop, racing through the trees and hoping to hell the guards had been held up by some extraordinary disaster. Then he saw it – a short, blond man with a carriage and carts of luggage. Him and his servants were surrounded by a gang of thieves, and the man was pointing his sword at them and trying rather pathetically to put up a brave front. But the thieves' strong axes and cleverly concealed daggers were clearly stronger than one sabre. He sighed and his horse trotted into the circle of people. He looked at the thieves with an almost sarcastic expression, his head held up in pride.

'What do you want?' one of them sneered.

'Oh, just passing by,' Sherlock said casually. '… Hans.'

The thief looked startled. 'How'd you know my name?'

'I'm afraid it would be too complex for you to understand,' Sherlock said and the thief grew angry.

'You want a gash in your head or you want to stop talking?' he threatened.

'Very attractive offer,' Sherlock said cockily, 'however, I would settle for you letting the man and his servant go.'

'Like that's gonna happen,' another spat. 'We don't take orders from the likes of you.'

'Oh, I know, but…' Sherlock paused and looked at the man. 'I'm sure you would not be so quick to object if your wife knew about the barmaid.'

'W-what?!' the thief stuttered, 'you're a liar! I'll cut you down right now!'

'Torn collar, the marks on your neck, _not_ very well concealed if you ask me… you've obviously been up all night - and the scent of perfume coming from you is _very_ strong,' Sherlock said calmly, scrunching his nose a little. 'What a pity it would be if you were caught out.' The man paused, and the other thief stepped in. 'You try and blackmail us and you'll be six feet under.'

'Oh, I know I would, but I don't think they would be too happy about it,' Sherlock said.

The guard looked around. 'Who?'

Behind them, the thunder of hooves started to slowly come into earshot. Sherlock smiled. 'Why don't you take it up with them.'

In seconds, a group of guards on horseback had burst through the trees, surrounded the group and the thieves were shackled and taken away. The captain of the guard, Lestrade sighed and approached Sherlock. 'Your brother is not pleased, your majesty.'

'Isn't he always, Geoffrey?' Sherlock grumbled.

Lestrade rolled his eyes and half muttered, 'Gregory, sir…' He turned to the blonde man and his servant. 'Forgive me for the trouble. We had hoped to escort you personally, but…' He looked at Sherlock. 'We were held up.'

'No worries,' the blond man said. 'No one was hurt.'

'Your Majesty, Captain Watson will be staying at the palace for the foreseeable few weeks,' the captain said. 'Your parents invited him, I suggest you avoid any more _escape plans_.'

'Who?' Sherlock muttered, not bothering to have listened to the captain.

'Captain John Watson of the Northumberland regiment, Your Majesty,' the blond man said, holding out his hand. Sherlock ignored it.

'Intriguing,' Sherlock said, lost in thought. He turned to Lestrade. 'Well, lead the way – best not keep Fatty waiting.' And he sped ahead.

John looked at Lestrade, and there was a silence. 'Is he always that rude?'

'You have no idea.'

Finally, they arrived at court. The carriage pulled to a stop and Molly sat up, just having time to place the circlet on her head. Billy opened the door. 'Ready, mouse?'

Molly paused, and fiddled with a strand of hair. 'Oh, what if I can't? I am not a courtier, what if they recognize me – what if I don't get George out? I can't do this!'

'Of course you can, just bloody breathe!' Billy said. 'Go in there and hold your head up and be like them. Just act your way through it – be a snob like them, and you'll have George out.'

'I hope you're right.' Molly said, then took a breath. 'Okay.'

She held up her head, stepped out of the carriage and walked with as much courage as she could muster through the crowds. The ladies in silk turned and glanced at her, and she felt small under their gazes. She continued on, wanting to just free George and get out of there.

Then, she saw horses at the gate. A group of men were riding back – flanked by the royal guard. A blond man and a young brown haired man were riding next to them, and in front of them… Oh God.

 _Walk away, walk away,_ Molly thought frantically, and started to quicken her pace. If he recognized her she'd be arrested… oh help her, she had better find George… She began to pace through the crowds, but her shoes were slippery and unpractical, and she couldn't move properly. Frustrated with the godforsaken garments and forgetting all ladylikeness she had, she broke into a run through the crowds, across the courtyard until she found herself following a group of guards down a slope where a caged cart was waiting at the bottom, filled with men in rags. She stopped short, scanning the faces for George. Then, there, in the back - he was sat, looking small and despaired. She made her way through the throng of guards and went to the locked door of the cart. 'George!'

He looked up, and his eyes widened in shock, a hand reaching out to grasp hers. 'Is that… _Molly_?'

'I've come to bring you home, just like I promised,' Molly said, lowering her voice, 'but we must hurry. Billy has the carriage waiting for us.'

George simply stared at her, wiping his eyes. 'I thought I was looking at your mother!'

She blushed slightly, before squeezing his hand. 'Come. We're going home.' She gave him a quick smile before straightening up and marching to the front of the cart. She approached the driver, a meaty giant of a man holding the reins in one hand and scratching an itch with the other.

'Sir,' she said. 'I would like to pay for the release of my servant.'

'You're too late,' the man said gruffly. 'They're bound for the Americas by decree of the King.'

'But I have his debt here-'

'And I'm telling you you're too late; now quit _bothering_ me.'

Molly felt a flush of anger run through her. She stepped in front of the cart, blocking the way. 'I demand you release him at once!'

'Get out of my way,' the driver shouted, going red in the face, 'or I'll RUN YOU DOWN!'

'You would _dare_ to raise your voice at a lady, sir?'

That voice. Oh no, no… She mentally chastised herself. _Of course_ she'd run into him here… She slowly turned around, hoping to God he wouldn't recognise her.

He stared inquisitively at her with his piercing snake-like eyes, then looked to the driver of the cart, who had gone startlingly pale. 'What is going on here?'

'I'm sorry, your Majesty,' the driver stuttered, 'but she was in my way, arguing 'bout some convict. I've got orders to get these criminals transported!'

The prince glanced to Molly. 'And what is this convict to you?'

'He is my servant,' Molly replied. 'And I have come to pay his debt.'

'Surely you have other servants?'

Molly fought the urge to scoff. 'That is not the point. He is a member of my staff and household and a valuable one at that. Tell me you do not see your own staff as so disposable.'

There was a collected laugh from the nobles surrounding them, and Molly felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. The prince quirked an eyebrow. 'My lady, I do not have the time to remember every one of my staff. And I certainly do not have the desire.'

Molly bit her lip in confusion. She looked at him, so prideful and ignorant, and wondered how he could take such pleasure in ridiculing her. 'Are they not still people, sir?'

'They are servants. They are there to work, like every other servant in the province. If one of them falls prey to the criminal habits which they are born to and is sent away, what of it? Another can take his place.'

Molly shook her head. 'With all respect, your Majesty, I cannot bring myself to agree with you.'

The curve of the prince's mouth twitched into something almost hinting at a smirk as he cast his gaze back to Molly, who went red and stared at her shoes. 'Well then,' he said briskly. 'By all means, my lady, state your case.'

Molly swallowed nervously. Oh Lord, she'd only come here to free George, not give a performance! She tried to form the words, feeling all eyes upon her. 'Well…' She looked back to the cart full of prisoners. 'By nature, we believe everyone has a place and status in the world - if you are poor, or rich, or in-between, then you are by that belief expected to act as your status dictates. We follow certain rules, enjoy the luxuries of the easy life which we were born to whilst everyone else works and struggles to survive. And some, like these poor souls here whom we employ, are forced to steal because of their "criminal habits" which you say is only natural, and we punish them for it, then what are we to make of it that it was only their first nature which made them do so? They know nothing else, or even if they did have good intentions and worked hard and abided the law we would still believe them liars because we see them as identical copies of one another and not people, when that is not who they are.'

There was a silence. Molly looked to the prince, who seemed to be pondering over it. Then, he looked to the driver of the cart and said curtly, 'Release him.'

The driver nearly went blue in the face. 'But- but sir!'

' _I said-'_ the prince snapped before stopping himself. 'Just release him.'

Grumbling, the driver moved to the back of the cart, unlocked the door and George hobbled out. Molly resisted the urge to hug him; she wasn't in the clear yet. She glanced at the prince and nodded, 'Thank you,' before turning to George and saying in the most commanding tone she could, 'Come, prepare the horses!'

She strode away. Finally… she could escape the godforsaken dress and go home.

'Wait!'

Molly wanted to slap someone. For God's sake, why did this man keep materialising in front of her every time she set foot outside?! She sighed, and turned around to see him trotting his horse a few paces behind her. She quickly sped up, and in response he dismounted and began to walk beside her. 'What is your name?'

Molly stumbled over her words - why couldn't he just leave her _be_? 'It is the name I was given,'

He let out a small laugh. 'Well, yes, I gathered that. And the name you were given would be…?'

'You would not know it if I told you,' Molly replied, picking up her pace.

The prince stopped in front of her, blocking her path. 'I am to believe you are _refusing_ to speak with your sovereign?' he said, catching up to her.

Molly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 'No,' she replied curtly, 'I only worry that your highness may have his reputation at risk, being seen with someone that has the mad idea of equality!'

'My reputation is already sullied enough, believe me,' he scoffed. 'I simply never have met somone-'

'What?' Molly snapped.

'Someone so…. Well, like you,' he finished. 'You go out of your way to rescue a servant and then in front of half the court flaunt your philosophical views in the hopes of appearing to sympathise for the lower class you'll be seen a hero; but heroes don't exist and all you do is make a fool of yourself. And for what?'

Molly stood, stunned. 'You know nothing of my intentions or my relationships with my servants-'

'You're invisible and you hate it. So you get ideas of a utopia in your mind to reassure yourself and convince yourself you have some meaning or place in this world but in reality no one shares your views and you're just seen as odd and, quite bluntly, pathetic - but you _still_ clamour for attention with your "revolutionary" philosophies and then wonder why no one bothers to join you in your self-pitying, woe-is-me lifestyle, and in the end, all you have for company are your ideas and imaginary heroes.'

Molly clenched her teeth, resisting the urge to slap him. Finally she took a breath and steeled herself, and fixed him with a smile. 'You know, you're right. I'm just a silly woman with silly thoughts and ideas. As you said, life is unfair and heroes don't exist in the real world, you're right.' She let her smile fall, a cold look replacing it. 'Because if they did, you certainly wouldn't be one of them.'

She walked briskly away, not seeing his shocked expression - or indeed the small group of men that had witnessed the spectacle.

'Who… who was that?' Captain Watson mumbled in amazement, trying in vain to hide his grin at the prince's face.

'I don't know,' said Lestrade, 'but I like her.'

'Oh, _shut up_ , you two.'


	6. Chapter 6

'You are the Crown Prince, Sherlock!' Mycroft thundered as his younger brother paced the room, holding on to his cane with an iron grip. 'You have responsibilities, duties-'

'And it is _my life_!' Sherlock snapped. 'If you are so bothered about the whole thing, by all means go and be king yourself!'

'I have told you, I have other duties-'

'Like what, brother? Stuffing your face with cake?'

'Boys, honestly!' Violet snapped, getting up from the chair at the corner of the room, with Arthur following behind. 'This is ridiculous, you two are acting like children!'

'Well maybe we wouldn't have such a problem is _your son_ would get his head out of the clouds and put a stop to all his experiments and escape plans!' Mycroft seethed.

'Oh, for God's sake,' Sherlock glared at his brother. 'Might I remind you, _brother dear_ , you were the one who played Deductions with me till you were fourteen?'

'When we were _children_!' Mycroft retorted before putting his face in his hands. 'Why I always end up being the one babysitting him I shall never-'

'That is quite enough, Mycroft!' Violet cut him off. 'You may be a prince, but I am your mother and you will _both_ stop bickering this instant or so help me I will send you to your chambers like when you were children!' There was a silence as both men immediately stopped, knowing all too well not to contradict their mother. She turned to Sherlock, who was facing the window and refusing to make eye contact with his brother or parents. She sighed and put a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugged off. 'My darling, try to understand. You are next in line, the coronation is coming closer and you have not even askowneldged the arrangement with Spain. You need to start thinking about the good of the kingdom.'

'Why?' Sherlock muttered. 'Just because I am born a prince my future is immediately decided for me, is that it? My life has already been planned to the second without any of my say; I might as well leave to be a _pirate_ and you would not notice!'

'My love, there comes a time when every man must take his place in the world, no matter how daunting the thought,' Violet said gently, but her son only scoffed. 'And where is my place, Mother? Oh, I know: under the great _shadow_ of kings!'

'Do not start, Sherlock, I am already in a foul mood!' King Arthur suddenly snapped bitterly. 'Now it is time to face facts! You were born into privilege, and with that privilege comes certain responsibilities. You cannot keep ignoring your duty to this country - I will not allow it!'

'I've done a good job so far!' Sherlock shot back.

'Don't you take that tone with me, I am king!' Arthur snapped. 'And you are a prince, and you will stop this nonsense or I will take drastic measures!'

'What - you'll send Fatty's guards after me again?'

Arthur's face hardened, and he threw his hands up in the air. 'If you do not start taking responsibility then I will deny you the crown and,' he stuttered and pointed a finger at his son; ' _live for ever_!'

' _Fantastic,_ ' Sherlock said venomously. 'Agreed! I don't want it!' And he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

'He's your son!' Arthur bellowed before leaving through the opposite door, slamming it behind him with a thunderous boom that left the windows rattling.

Violet turned to Mycroft, then slumped into her chair and sighed. 'Well, that was a complete disaster.'


	7. Chapter 7

Molly and George made their way round the back of the house, smiling and talking. Molly was changed out of her gown and back into her work clothes, glad to be free to move and walk under the sun and not have act as a ladylike courtier. And especially to get away from _that_ man… whom she had elected to not even think about. _She had better things to do with her time than bother with a spoiled prince with a stick up his-_

'Thank you, Molly, I thought I'd never see Martha again,' George sighed happily, jolting her from her thoughts. 'I cannot wait to see her face.'

'Did you really think we would let you leave?' Molly grinned, and George wrapped her in a tight hug which she gladly accepted. Since _Papa_ … Well, he had practically been her only father figure. When they parted, her eyes wandered to the fields, green and smelling ever so sweetly of the home which she had been longing for the whole carriage ride. A slight smile curved the corners of her mouth as she spotted Mrs Hudson and Sally come into view, weeding the garden. Sally looked up, spotted her, and nearly took a stumble back into the field before a wide smile broke her features. She began to shout in joy, dropped her tools and sprinted towards Mrs Hudson, shrieking,

'He's _back_! MRS HUDSON, HE'S HERE! _MARTHA_!'

Molly stifled a giggle and looked at George, who was lost in his own little world, watching his smiling wife with love. She playfully patted him on the arm; 'What are you _waiting_ for; go to her!' George nodded, kissed her on the cheek and began to run towards Mrs Hudson, who had spotted them them in the distance, had hitched up her skirts and was making her way as fast as she could through the buttery-yellow wheat fields, towards her husband, a look of pure, unimaginable joy on her face. Sally was simply jogging behind her, looking on in amazement. Molly… well, Molly was just happy to walk behind, so relieved to have her only family back together.

When she caught up, all three pulled her into a hug, Mrs Hudson kissing her forehead and crying tears of happiness. 'Thank you, thank you!' she said breathlessly, 'I can't believe it, George, I thought I'd lost you; don't you _ever_ leave me again!' She hugged her husband, and Molly and Sally smiled contentedly to each other, happiness and relief flooding the senses of the group and giving them a sense of calm they had not felt in weeks. They walked back to the house together, Molly feeling happier than she'd been in a long time. Mrs Hudson and George had each other again, and the Baroness would not be able to separate them. It was a small victory – but it was _theirs_.

They entered the house, and were greeted by the sight of the Baroness de Reil, Mary and Irene in the lounge. The Baroness looked up, spotted George, and her eyes narrowed into calculating slits. She lifted her skirts, and stepped towards him. 'What are _you_ doing here?'

Molly's heart skipped a beat, but George quickly replied, 'I worked off your-' he corrected himself hastily; ' _my_ debt, and they let me go.'

The Baroness stared at him for a few seconds more, then, _finally_ , sighed and waved him off dismissively. 'Very well,' she rubbed her temples - _rather dramatically_ , Molly thought. 'Go… catch a chicken.'

'Yes, ma'am,' George stammered, and hurried off.

Molly sighed in relief and went to leave with the others, but the Baroness held up her hand. 'Margaret? A moment, if you would.'

Molly turned around, her blood going cold. She breathed in shakily, and faced her stepmother. 'Yes, Madame?'

'We had a visitor,' the Baroness said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. 'A _very unexpected visitor_. About the _horse_.'

Molly almost fell over. Oh God, God…how had she known?! She steadied herself, not letting her composure fall apart.

'They came to return it… the Prince and his guards,' the Baroness finished icily. 'And they said you _attacked_ him.'

Molly tried to stay calm. 'Forgive me, ma'am, I only thought he was a thief… he wanted to take the horse-'

The Baroness suddenly laughed out loud. She caught her breath and looked at Molly, smiling giddily. 'You didn't _recognize_ him? My God, you _poor country girl_ …' She let out a tinkly giggle. 'You didn't recognize him… so you pelted him with apples!' Molly almost thought she had gotten away with it at the way her stepmother was acting, but the Baroness quickly turned serious. She stepped towards her, and Molly backed into the wall, her back hitting cold, hard stone. The Baroness looked at her venomously. 'The next time a prince comes knocking on our door you will _stay out of it_ ,' Molly jumped, 'am I understood?'

'Yes, ma'am,' she said.

'Luckily, Irene put on quite the performance,' the Baroness smiled patronisingly, and daintily took her seat, folding her . 'He was quite smitten with her.' She delicately picked up a book and flicked through it. 'I would not be surprised if he returned tomorrow.'

Molly nodded politely, still slightly apprehensive from the Baroness' temper. Then, as if practiced, looked up at her from her book almost venemously. 'Why are you still here?'

Molly and Sally walked through the garden together, armed with beekeepers' hats and rough gloves. The sun beat down on them as they chatted casually, making their way to the hives.

'I would have loved to see you dressed up as a courtier,' Sally sighed, 'Mixing with the rich...'

'Believe me, I am glad it is over,' Molly scoffed. 'They were all so arrogant… I've never felt so _nervous_ in my life!' She reached into the beehive. 'And I nearly had George freed but the _damned driver_ kept arguing with me, and then...' She trailed off as the image of the prince flickered into her mind, materialising like a beautifully crafted painting, made entirely from memory.

She felt a flush of warmth creep into her cheeks, but quickly quickly fished the honeycomb out of the hive and moved onto the next one. _Get a hold of yourself, Molly..!_

Sally stopped and looked at her quizzically. She stood beside her, and crossed her arms. 'What?' Molly said, looking up from the hive.

'Who is he?'

Molly went bright red and quickly turned away, making Sally laugh. 'It-it's nobody!' she stuttered at a rather high pitch, '…Sally, _really_ , w-we have work to do..'

'I'm not dropping it 'til I get an answer out of you,' Sally grinned.

'Sally, really, nothing… happened.' Molly sighed, looking down in embarrassment.

' _Really_?'

Molly once again thought of the sharp, piercing eyes, a mix of blue and green, staring through her, the dark waves of hair, Cupid's bow lips, sharp, angled features and snowy white complexion. The way he had analysed her every feature and fact... and the way he had acted around her when he thought she was a courtier..! For God's sake - he was rude, arrogant, and _painfully_ blunt... and yet… she still found herself drawn to him.

 _For God's sake, Molly Hooper! Get a hold of yourself!_

T-this was ridiculous! She wasn't the type of person who fell for the _prince_ , of all people, and _certainly not_ in the space of one _day_ …! What was _wrong_ with her?!

She paused, forcing herself to breathe - ( _good_ Lord _, she getting a headache_ ) _-_ and faced Sally, still waiting for an answer. She sighed. 'Well,' she started, 'they m-may have had something to do with… Father's horse... and some _apples_ …?'

Molly could've sworn the shout Sally let out at that moment could have been heard in the next country. 'You are _in_ _love_ with the PRINCE?!' Sally gasped in a speed-of-light stutter, her eyes alarmingly wide.

'Sally, keep your voice down!' Molly pleaded, becoming slightly irritated and ever so embarrassed, as Sally, her "so-called-friend", began to splutter and stifle giggles. 'A-a-and I-I am _not_ in love - least of all; _with him_! Believe me, he is _rude,_ and _conceited_ , and ARROGANT, and, and—'

'Molly? Sally?' They turned around to see Mary making her way down the hill, smiling shyly. _'_ Helloo..?' she grinned and let out a tinkly; helium-esque giggle.

'Oh bloody _hell_ ,' Sally muttered.

' _Be nice_ ,' Molly scolded her quietly.

Mary approached them, smiling. 'Hello, Miss,' Molly said quickly.

Mary let out a bubbly chuckle. 'Please, girls, no formalities - I hate being called "Miss" and "Madame".' She sighed and looked at the sky, an ever so slight, contented smile teasing the corners of her lips.

Molly and Sally paused, taken aback, and exchanged a brief confused glance. Yes, it was true she was considerably _nicer_ than her mother - and _definitely Madam Irene_ , for that matter - but she was shy and rarely spoke to the servants.

 _How odd…_ Molly pondered, but abruptly shook it off, her usual bright smile taking its place on her face. _Think positive, Molly! She is only Ms Mary, after all!_

Her composure regained - unfortunately the same couldn't be said for Sally - she looked to Mary with a polite expression, who returned it with a smile. She paused, and giggled, her honey-blonde locks bouncing on her shoulders ever so slightly. She quickly, regained her composure and sighed. 'Pardon me… ladies, I am _all_ over the place today! Anyway, I was wondering if you'd seen Mrs Hudson? I have a tear in my dress,' she held out a bundle of delicate cloth which Molly recognised as one of her dresses in her arms; 'and I don't know how to sew it up...'

'I'll take it to her,' Molly replied briskly, taking the dress from Mary, then paused, as an idea popped into her mind, came and gone as fast as a candle's flame. 'Or - I… could even teach you how to sew it up, if you'd like?'

Mary thought for a moment, then smiled shyly - to Molly's great relief, as for a heart-stopping moment she feared she had stepped out of line. _Asking a lady of a house to sew up her own dress…_ It was simply unheard of!

'Thank you. It would save Mrs Hudson doing it, wouldn't it? I should learn a few skills.'

Molly nodded, relieved, and smiled. 'I'll just finish up the beehives with Sally and be in in a minute.'

'Thank you,' Mary smiled gratefully, and made her way up the hill.

Sally scoffed and turned back to the beehives. 'I don't know about her, Molls. She may be all sugar and sunshine but she's still the Barnoness's daughter. I don't trust her.'

Molly shook her head. 'Just because she's blood doesn't mean she's as awful as her mother.' She smiled slightly, back to her bubbly self. 'You shouldn't judge a person on first sight. Besides, she's _always_ been nice to us.'

Sally shrugged. 'It's your funeral, Margaret Hooper.'

Molly chuckled, flinging off her hat and gloves. 'I'll be back shortly; try not to start a mutiny while I'm gone!'

She found Mary in the old tool shed at the top of the hill. It used to hold the plough, but because of the debt they'd sold their fields and most of the horses with it. Instead, Molly and Mrs Hudson had turned into a workroom for mending the Baroness and her daughters' _unholy_ amount of garments; and some of the time Molly would escape to read.

Molly approached Mary with a smile. 'Ready to start?'

They sat at the workbench, and Molly took a needle and thread and made a neat stitch in the fabric. 'It's quite easy once you know how,' she explained to Mary. 'Here, why don't you try and copy what I did?'

Mary smiled and took the needle, imitating Molly's stitching. Molly nodded slowly as she watched her. 'Good… Actually, _very_ good!' she quickly composed herself, taking a breath, 'You're a natural, Miss.'

Mary grinned. 'It's better than being in the house with my mother and Irene. I mean… know they _are my family_ and all that… but sometimes they irritate me so! All my mother seems to _care about_ is making us as marriage-worthy as possible!'

Molly tilted her head slightly; intrigued. Reserved, polite Mary, whom besides the odd thank-you or good morning had never attempted a real conversation with her, was suddenly opening up to her as if they'd been real, close-knit step-sisters since the day they met, and she was rather taken aback by it all. Was this some sort of joke her and Irene had planned? _No!_ Molly scolded herself; _Mary was Irene's sister but there is no_ way _she could be that_ spitefu _l._ _Good Lord, Sally's rubbing off on me…_

Her train of thought came to an abrupt halt when she realised she'd been silent nearly twenty seconds. 'Um…' she stammered clumsily; _For goodness' sake, Molly, at least_ attempt _to complete a full sentence! '_ I'm… sure it must be tiring with all your lessons, Miss…' she just about managed, the alarm-bells in her mind slowing down slightly.

Mary nodded, 'Yes, it's a _nightmare_ ,' her eyes flicked up from her sewing and she grinned playfully, 'and I've _told_ you, Molls, none of this "Miss" nonsense! To you, I am Mary.' Molly felt herself relax; there was something about Mary that made her at ease.

Then; quite suddenly, Mary went to speak, but paused. And after a moment, let out a small sigh, focusing rather forcefully back to her stitching.

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you about the lessons I _used_ to have…' she muttered bitterly. 'I actually enjoyed them…'

Molly glanced to Mary. 'You never know,' she replied, giving Mary an understanding smile. 'I'm quite good listener.'

Mary paused. Then, slowly, she looked up from her work, and when her face was fully visible Molly noticed her eyes had lit up, with an alive, almost child-like aura. She turned to face her, barely suppressing a grin, and leaned forward, as if she were about to reveal to her the very meaning of _life_ itself.

'I studied _archery_. And swordsmanship, and _horse-riding_ \- God, I loved the horses we kept when I was a girl; we had this absolute beast of a stallion, Molly, eighteen hands high, muscles all over and _black as coal_ ; and everyone was afraid of him- except me; we'd only just bought him and I was only six years old; but I _adored_ him _so_ much and so I kept bothering Papa about it; _asking and asking and asking_ , every day and then; he finally gives in, saddles this great big animal up, has the stable-master tie him to a post in the yard so he doesn't get spooked and break fre;, brings me into the yard and hoists me up onto this big animal.' She let out a great, heavy sigh, ' _I was in_ heaven! But then; oh God, Molls, you'll never guess what happened next - I'm only in the saddle _two seconds_ when _Mama_ comes outside!' She paused, a grin that threatening to split her face. 'Molly, she _fainted_!'

At that, both her and Molly burst into uproarious laughter; Molly surprised herself at how loud she laughed, but the image of the Baroness passing out into a muddy paddock in all her finery was _simply hilarious_! Mary gripped the table to steady herself as she let out boisterous owl-like giggles, tears rolling down her cheeks. ' _She nearly murdered Papa!_ ', and Molly couldn't help but squeal with hysteria with her, until finally the laughter died down into the occasional giggle - the two girls with exhausted, happy grins on their faces.

'Oh God,' Mary breathed, 'That took the wind out of me!'

Molly smiled in agreement - albeit mostly to herself. The way Mary had described her wild childhood days, the horse, her _father_ … especially her father. How she recalled him so happily, _humorously_ … He must have been very dear to her…

Her gaze moved to floor, a few strands of copper hair falling over her face as her own papa's smiling image briefly flickered into her mind's eye. His loving smile greeting her with that familiar warmth she missed so much these days; sometimes it felt more than she could _ever_ know. She longed to hug him again - just once more. She shifted in her seat as she felt a pang of cold, familiar sadness run through her.

'Molly?'

Once again, Mary jolted her back to earth. Molly looked up, her usual, worn smile replacing her soft features. Mary could tell something was wrong, she knew that, but kept it to herself. Instead, she grinned, and patted Molly on the hand. 'You and I are going to be good friends, step-sister; wait and see!'

Molly smiled despite herself. Friends? For a brief moment, she dared to hope so.

 **Thank-you so much, my dear followers! I know this story has been taking ages and I've just been sooooo busy with Christmas! You are all my audience in the theatre of fandom and I LOVE you all! And as we say;**

 **READ AND REVIEW AND MERRY, MERRY CHRISTMAS!Xxxxxoxxxoo**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello, thanks to all my followers and a big thanks to** **,** **my first review for the story:) On with the show, Sherlollians!:D**

Queen Violet strolled through the moonlit gardens with her youngest son, listening intently as he lamented to her. She had to admit, she had not seen William as wound up as this since he was a young boy. The lady at court he spoke of so adamantly of... she must be quite remarkable. Usually, the boy did not bother to socialise with any courtiers at all.

'Surely you know of her, Mother?' her son's deep baritone voice brought her out of her thoughts, and she turned her gaze to him. 'You know everyone who comes to court.'

Violet chuckled lightly. 'Darling, not enough to remember them all by name. I simply wouldn't get anything done!' She looped her arm through his, patting his hand. 'Why is the lady of such interest to you, my love?'

Sherlock scoffed abruptly and turned away, his expression souring. 'She is _not_ of interest to me, Mother; she is merely clutter in the palace of my mind. An inconvenience of my subconscious. I have much more useful things to think about, important things, but yet she lingers there! It's maddening.' He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his ebony locks.

Violet smiled gently. 'Darling, it is only human to experience an attraction. It is human emotion.'

'And where did emotion ever get the human race?' Sherlock muttered. 'Thousands of years, countless wars and tragedies marked down in history to teach us the fatality of human nature and still, we fall prey to _sentiment_.' He spat out the word like it was poison.

The sound of footsteps halted their conversation as Mycroft and Arthur came into view, Mycroft looking particularly vexed. Sherlock's eyes quickly studied them; dishevelled robes, hints of dark circles under their eyes, plus Mycroft's right hand was clenched in a death-grip around his cane…They were planning something.

'Father, really, this idea is not suitable.' Mycroft said resignedly, only to be shushed by Arthur. 'It is either this or the stress of this marriage treaty sends me to an early grave,' the king replied tiredly. He looked to his youngest son, whose expression remained stone-cold.

'If you're here to lecture me again on how unfit I am for the crown, Father, do not bother. I won't waste my breath arguing with you.'

'I've come to propose a compromise,' Arthur said, rather reluctantly.

Sherlock's brow quirked ever so slightly. He turned to his father. 'You? _Compromise_?'

Arthur shook it off and continued sternly; 'If you will not accept marriage to a stranger as part of your duties a future king, then find someone whom you _can_ stand to spend a lifetime with. For five days hence, at the masque, you will announce your engagement to the woman of your choosing - or I will do it for you.'

Sherlock stared at him inquisitively, before rolling his eyes. 'Fantastic. First, you force me to take the throne instead of your firstborn, and now I must act like I believe "love" exists? Really, what will you think of next to torment me?'

'It is either this or you agree to the arrangement and spend a lifetime married to a Spaniard you barely know whilst juggling ruling two countries,' Mycroft snapped, 'And believe me, brother mine, divorce is only a very new concept.'

Sherlock merely dismissed him. 'And what of your and Father's contract with Spain, brother mine?'

Mycroft gripped the handle of his cane even tighter, fixing his brother with a cold look. 'I shall be dealing with that matter; in the meantime, I suggest you find yourself a wife. And, while Captain Watson is a guest of the palace, I expect you to show him around and make sure he is seen to properly.' Sherlock went to protest but his older brother simply held up a finger to stop him; 'He is an extremely esteemed guest and he is to be a part of your wedding, younger brother, so whether you like it or not, you will be spending time together.' He paused before quirking an eyebrow, 'Perhaps he will prove to be useful in finding you a wife. I have heard he has quite the reputation.'

Sherlock remained quiet, barely concealing his anger. How he longed to knock his arrogant older sibling down a peg...

'Fine,' he finally said, looking to his brother, who nodded stiffly in agreement and went to walk away, but he continued; 'I'll agree to your terms if it means you will stop pestering me.' He paused, before a smirk formed on his lips. 'Who knows, brother mine, perhaps when I am married you will finally gather the courage to ask Anthea for your hand.'

At the sound of that name, Mycroft wheeled around at alarming speed, a crack in his usual composure. He fixed his younger brother with a steely glare he only reserved for those rare moments when he was about to lose his temper. He straightened his back; 'I don't know what you're talking about, little brother.'

Sherlock merely looked at him innocently, fighting back a grin. 'Oh, so you haven't told tell Mother and Father about the two months you've been sleeping with the palace's head of household?'

Violet gasped slightly and raised a hand to her mouth, Arthur went red in the face, and Mycroft looked as if he was about to strangle his little brother, who glanced at the scene before him before raising an eyebrow; 'This should be interesting for you.'

Molly was exhausted, having almost finished her day's work, and a long day it had been. She climbed the servants' stairwell, brushing dirt off her clothes and fighting back a yawn. All she had to do now was light the candles upstairs and she could get some peace and quiet...

The sound of talking halted her train of thought as she heard giggling and murmurs coming from the attic. How odd, she thought, That room hasn't been used in years... Climbing the stairs, she went to investigate, the sound of voices becoming clearer. She turned the handle on the door, and it creaked open to reveal the Baroness, Irene and Mary all standing over a chest by the bed.

'Ma'am?' Molly asked timidly. 'I was just cleaning and...'

The Baroness slowly turned to face her, her lips set in a thin line. She folded her hands together. 'Margaret. Are you not supposed to be preparing the dinner?'

Molly swallowed, 'Mrs Hudson said I could rest; Sally is helping her. I was just finishing my day's work-'

'Well then you have no reason to be up here, don't you?' the Baroness said primly before turning back to Irene, who was holding up a beautiful silvery gown against herself. Molly recognized it from a painting they used to have in the house, which had been sold... A painting of her mother.

'What are you doing?' she asked, Irene and the Baroness oblivious to her.

Mary cast her a sympathetic glance, 'We are getting Molly's dress ready for the masque, aren't we, Mother?'

The Baroness's expression dropped before she quikly composed herself. 'Yes,' she said in clipped tones, 'I suppose it will have to do... it's practically a relic,'

Molly put a hand to her mouth, stunned. Had she really just heard her correctly? 'You wish me to go to the masque?' she said in barely a whisper.

'Really, Margaret, it hurts me that you do not feel a part of this family,' the Baroness said stiffly. 'I thought we could all go together,' she put a hand up as Molly's smile widened, 'given that you do all your work and you are on best behaviour.'

'Thank-you, madame,' Molly nodded, 'you don't know what this means to me.'

'For heaven's sake, don't be so dramatic,' the Baroness dismissed her. 'Now go on, help Mrs Hudson prepare the supper before I change my mind.'


End file.
